


New Old Houses

by twelvegraves



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Past Abuse, also mentions deacons Butt, implied past slavery, shes a synth You Get It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvegraves/pseuds/twelvegraves
Summary: "It was as if, even through all these years, Ava still expected to simply wake up back in the institute, knowing nothing but the whisper quiet voices of the synths, the loud baritones of the scientists who made them, and the smooth white walls that you could never get a grip on, no matter how hard you held onto it.Did she still? Not here. Not in this house. Maybe other places in the wasteland. Not here."
Relationships: Deacon (Fallout)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	New Old Houses

The house was quiet. None of the lights were on, and despite it being high noon, the sky was dark and pregnant with storm.

Ava sat on the couch, doing nothing but letting her eyes wander the room. Deacon was in the other room. Some passing ruffians, in a drunken raucous, had knocked the window right out of the frame, and Deacon swore he would be able to fix it himself. He didn’t have to tell her twice, honestly. She just wanted a moment to herself.

Even in this moment of peace, her hands wandered and she found herself picking at the fabric of the throw blanket beneath her. Her eyes traveled anxiously over the worn sheet metal walls they had scavenged, the oven they had put together using the guts of a gause laser rifle (Ava was particularly proud, and afraid of that one), the window set into the wall that wasn’t yet broken. All that furniture. When had they gotten all that furniture?

“Fuck,” Deacon cursed, though it was muffled and quiet through the wall. Not by much. The walls were as thin in a way that paradoxically reminded her of the institute. Those were anything but thin, cheap, or worn, but there was always the sense of being watched, being listened to, and seeing, no matter how much you didn’t want to.  
Suddenly a thread came off the comforter and Ava realized how hard she had been picking at it.

Did she still feel like that? She often felt like she ought to. It was as if, even through all these years, Ava still expected to simply wake up back in the institute, knowing nothing but the whisper quiet voices of the synths, the loud baritones of the scientists who made them, and the smooth white walls that you could never get a grip on, no matter how hard you held onto it.  
Did she? Not here. Not in this house. Maybe other places in the wasteland. Not here.

How long had they spent on this house? On each other? It seemed like such a small investment to Ava as they went along, making idle plans for dreams she never really thought would happen. They started pointing out things as they passed them, and making jokes about where in their house they would put them. Then eventually they began laughingly gathering whatever it was. Finally, they actually put the damn thing together.  
Even then, even as Ava moved furniture in, even as they set up a guest room (mostly for Shaun), she somehow expected Deacon to never really stay there, like a sailor. But as Ava sat and considered the house and everything in it, she was suddenly confronted with how much effort she and Deacon had put into this. 

She remembered when they found one of the metal window frames that eventually became the bedroom window that Deacon was working on right now. Deacon had insisted he would pull it up out of the ground, since she had actually spotted it.

“This won't end horribly, I swear,” he said, and this was enough to make Ava laugh.

“I’m sure,” she had said, definitely sincere, and not already thinking of snappy one liners to use when he put his back out. Deacon waved his ass at her as he bent down. That had been ridiculous enough, honestly, but then his pants began falling down. She saw the barest hint of ass cleavage and the piss yellow underwear he wore (hopefully that was just what they were supposed to look like?).

“Your pants are falling down,” Ava said, pretending she wasn’t laughing.

“Yeah?” he said. His ass wiggled more vigorously. “Ohh no! My pants! What if they, while we are out here all alone, fall down! Whatever will I do?” Slowly, his pants slid down as he spoke, and gradually exposed more and more of his (hopefully dyed) underwear. Then his sunglasses fell off, and bounced a few feet away.

He stopped and, still bent over, took a step towards them. In the next moment, his pants fell down, his foot came down in those pants, his ankle twisted, and with a thump, his entire body tipped over.

Though Ava was already helping him back up and into his pants, she also laughed.

“Laugh it up, Bozo,” he said, though he also laughed.

“I will,” she said. “I promise.”

She had ended up working the window frame out of the dirt herself. It had taken an hour, and she would’ve rather just taken him back after a tumble like that. But Deacon had talked so much about how ‘perfect’ that window frame would be in ‘their house.’ It made Ava’s heart ache.

They didn’t even have the house yet, so they just dragged it back to the Railroad HQ and left it there. Ava quickly acclimated to seeing it there and began ignoring it with a swiftness that surprised even her. But often she would catch, she thought, Deacon’s gaze towards it. In its general direction, maybe.

Deacon himself interrupted her navel gazing. The room was even darker than before. The storm had brewed while she had been lost in thought.

“God, it took the literal sweat off my back, but I did it,” he said. She hummed, still distracted, but she was glad he was here.

The radio was playing some syrupy, warm song about roses and honey. Even through those glasses, in this darkened room, she could see that devilish look on his face. He soft-shoed up to her, his hips wiggling. Was this sexy or silly? She laughed regardless.

“May I have this dance, milady?”

“A scoundrel like you?” she said, putting on the sort of voice she thought women called ‘milady’ might use. “Always.”

She took his hand, and with only the smallest of pauses, he leveraged her up and into his arms. She set her face into his shoulder and, automatically it seemed, his hand laid itself gently at the base of her neck.

They didn’t dance, exactly. They swayed, like old couples sometimes did. He smelled faintly like sweat and the stuff he used to style his wigs. A soft moment, and yet Ava’s throat burned with things left unsaid. Saying them felt important, and yet, she felt like it would stain this soft second she had snatched, either from the aether or the hands of those who had created her. She felt it might be a lie to not.

Ava felt the warm air that had taken residence in her torso leak out like a balloon, and she began to pull away-

“I’m… glad you’re here,” Deacon said softly, into her ear. “I’m glad that we’re here. Together.” His voice was breathless and tight. Ava’s own eyes pricked with tears and she said nothing. She held him closer, though, and he kissed her neck.   
The roof sounded with a soft, yet insistent, tapping.

The rain, it seems, had finally come through.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a commission done for my good friend b-b-b-bennyandthetops over at tumblr love u bitch lol <3 <3 <3
> 
> my tumblr is at twelvetombs hmu i write romance of all types Wink


End file.
